The Cello Concerto is a distinct curiosity. Written at the end of 1932, it is not so much an original work as it is a free reinterpretation of a keyboard concerto in D written in 1746 by Matthias Georg Monn. (There is a parallel here to Schoenberg's String Quartet Concerto, based on a concerto by Handel.) Schoenberg's rewriting of the original work is rather extensive: as well as transferring the solo part to the cello, he completely reorchestrated the work and changed a lot of the harmony. The final result combines harmonic writing which swivels around from 18th century to early 20th century idioms and an orchestration that appears to be a mid-20th century reinterpretation of late-Baroque style: the work's three movements begin with a festive allegro, continue with a slow movement in march time and end with an up-tempo minuet. Fred Sherry's performance here can be considered as close to definitive as we can expect in this puzzling work.

The Second Chamber Symphony also had a complex gestation. Schoenberg started work on this piece in 1906, almost as soon as he had finished the First, but his rapidly changing style soon sprinted ahead of the music in this work, and he felt unable to complete it. Just over thirty years later, looking for accessible music to premiere in his new homeland of the United States, Schoenberg fished out the old score and completed the work. The initial plan had been for a three-movement work, but the final result was a two-movement work: the opening movement is a dark and pensive adagio, while the vigorously rhythmic second movement's coda subsides back to the music of the opening movement. This is--as the composer had hoped--a comparatively accessible work; to my mind it is also a distinctly underrated one, and it's good to see it revived, particularly in a strong performance such as this one.

By contrast, the four-movement piano concerto, written in 1942, is generally accepted as one of the strongest of Schoenberg's serial works. It retreats somewhat from the stricter atonality of many of the works of the previous two decades, with octave doublings and hints of tonality prominent throughout the work (the British composer Robert Simpson suggested that the work was an exercise in creating an expectation of tonality without its actual presence). The work plays without a break: a pensive opening movement is followed by a vigorous scherzo, a darkly intense slow movement and a finale that wraps the work up ambiguously. Unfortunately, I can't say I was particularly taken to Christopher Oldfather's rather swift reading, which seemed to me rather lacking in charm or depth compared to Brendel, Pollini or Uchida.

The expressionist music drama Die Glückliche Hand, written between 1912 and 1913, seems to have been regarded as a quasi-sequel to the monodrama Erwartung, though in almost every respect it is a retreat from the unalloyed extremism of that work. (It is perhaps revealing that the composition of Die Glückliche Hand partially overlapped that of Pierrot Lunaire, another more radical work.) The composer wrote the (rather self-pitying) libretto, a tale of humiliation of an ambitious, creative man at the hands of a woman. The music is in an atonal expressionist style, with an offstage chorus and pompous instrumental band adding mocking remarks in the first and last of the four scenes. This isn't major Schoenberg, but it's good to hear it in a strong performance, as it is here.

Overall, despite the concentration on Schoenberg's lesser-known works, this is an interesting and stimulating collection, with only the Piano Concerto a disappointment. Robert Craft's copious and informative inlay notes help to enchance the attractiveness of the package.